


in dreams

by spacestationtrustfund



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:38:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacestationtrustfund/pseuds/spacestationtrustfund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Natasha grabs onto the arms of her attacker and pulls him down to her, the blade of the knife slicing even deeper into the soft flesh of her forearms, and together they plunge backwards over the guardrail, and everything is falling, falling, falling.<em></em></em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	in dreams

_Natasha dodges the first attack and comes up slicing outward with her knife; Clint pulls an arrow back to his cheek, desperate for a clear spot so he can hit the guy she’s fighting without worrying about hitting her. The knife glints in the light as she cuts down across the man’s chest and a bright red spray discolours his shirt. He tries to hit her in the face, but Natasha grabs the punch and twists his arm, knocking him to the ground. Clint releases the arrow then; it swishes through the air and lands in the man’s skull with a hollow thunk._

_Then Natasha looks up at him, where he’s perched on the rail above her. She lifts a hand in acknowledgement, but frowns: Her eyes widen suddenly and she leaps to the side a second too late. The throwing knife’s blade catches her in the chest and she stumbles back against the rail of the overpass, her back hitting the edge. Her assailant lunges forwards and pins her down; she bends back but can’t escape. Her weapon clatters over the side._

_Clint whips out another arrow—he can shoot the man in the back, knock him over the edge of the bridge, he can, but not without sending Natasha over with him. She’s pushing up desperately, her arms now covered in blood; her attacker has a knife too, that he’s pushing down on her. Clint aims frantically, but Natasha is too close. She’s blocking the shot. She’s blocking the shot._

_Her mouth moves and forms his name: “Clint!” He keeps the arrow in place, but something flickers in her eyes, and Clint knows suddenly what she’s going to do before she does it, and he screams her name into the abruptly silent air._

_Natasha grabs onto the arms of her attacker and pulls him down to her, the blade of the knife slicing even deeper into the soft flesh of her forearms, and together they plunge backwards over the guardrail, and everything is falling, falling, falling._

 

Clint wakes up gasping, choking and trying desperately to catch his breath, to recover himself. The room is dark and the shadows hang like heavy, dusty curtains across the night. His face is covered in a light sheen of sweat, and when he reaches up to wrap his hands around his face, his fingers slip and fall back to the bed. The sheets are claustrophobic; he shoves them away and sits up rapidly, his breath still hitching in his throat.

“Sweetie?” The voice comes from behind him, and his instinct is to turn and block an attack, to duck and get to the ground, to protect himself— _to protect Natasha_ —but he forces himself to stay still. Laura sits up with a rustle of sheets and touches his shoulder gently. “What happened?”

He can’t speak yet, but he reaches back and grabs her hand. Laura shifts over and wraps her arms around him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. Clint leans into her touch, instinctively wanting the comfort of her presence. “Shh, sweetie, it’s okay,” Laura murmurs.

Clint manages to choke out, “Natasha—she isn’t—” and then stops, the terror still overwhelming him. He has to force himself to breathe; ragged sobs choke him each time. He isn’t even sure why he’s crying, but tears are stinging his eyes.

Laura holds on, murmuring softly, her fingers tangling with his. “It’s okay, sweetie, I’m here. You’re fine, Natasha’s okay, everyone’s fine. Nothing happened. It’s just a dream, Clint, it’s okay now.”

Slowly, he calms down. Wiping the tears roughly from his face, Clint turns to look at Laura, who’s taken the whole event with the monotony of one who’s experienced it many times before. She has. He knows she has. “I’m . . . she was falling.”

“I know.” Laura’s eyes are gentle and bright. “Clint, sweetie. I know. Will it help to talk about it?” Her hands never stop moving, caressing his shoulders, stroking his back, touching his neck gently.

_The blood on Natasha’s arms and face, the terror present there. The absolute terror he felt in simile, terror of losing her again, for the final time._ “A mission gone south,” he manages to choke out, the words falling heavily between them. “Three men. I shot one, but Nat took on the other two. She got one, easy. The other had a gun, and a knife. He got on top of her and held her over the side of . . . an overpass.” He’s crying again, silent tears filthing up his face. “She pulled him down and fell with him. She was . . . she made it out, but I was so . . .”

Laura rubs her hands up and down the length of his back, her chin on his left shoulder, the one he hurt before. “But she made it out, right? She’s okay now?” Her voice is low and reassuring, fighting off the wave of panic that keeps strangling him.

“She’s—she’s okay now,” Clint gasps. He presses his hand over Laura’s, where she’s feeling his heartbeat. It’s too rapid, he knows that instinctively, too rapid to be natural. “Of course she is.”

“Natasha’s always okay,” Laura whispers. Her breath is warm against his skin, clammy with sweat. “You both made it out. It’s okay now, sweetheart. You’re alive, you’re mostly whole, you’re safe.”

Clint keeps holding on to her hand, knowing he’s probably gripping it too tightly and not caring. “I always dream about awful things that are true. Never the fake stuff. Always things that are true.”

Laura doesn’t say anything, just keeps holding him. Clint reaches back and pulls her other hand around him, so that both of her arms are wrapped around his chest, and closes his eyes. Laura kisses his neck, soft and careful, and he leans into the touch.

“We have to invite Nat over sometime soon,” Laura says softly, pressing her lips to his cheek. “The children love her, and I know she needs a break from work more often than she’ll admit in a lifetime.”

Clint murmurs something incomprehensible that’s meant to agree, but Laura understands. She smiles against his neck and adds gently, “And Lucky’s barely able to be parted from her, so there’s that as well.”

“I worry,” Clint says; his voice is more or less returned to normal, but a lingering pain remains stubbornly there, “about her. Sometimes. Probably more than I should.”

Laura gently releases her hands from his grasp and shifts them down his chest, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin. “It’s normal to worry about your friends, and since Natasha doesn’t worry nearly enough about herself, someone’s got to do the job, and I guess that someone’s you.”

_Blood on her face, her arms, her skin; terror in her eyes. Her hair billowing out into empty air, flowing in a red curtain down over the side._ “I know, but . . .”  _Her broken form lying on the concrete below. Pure fear ripping through him like he’s cut in half._ “Laura . . .”

She pulls him around into a full kiss, and Clint tries to let himself be lost in her, tangling his hands in her long, dark hair, pushing against her in the black emptiness of their room. “Clint, it’s okay. I won’t let anything happen.”

Clint almost laughs at that—she’s never been trained, knows nearly nothing about SHIELD, can’t even pull back the string of his bow without hurting his fingers—but she’s strong in other ways that he can barely begin to fathom. “You’re gonna fight off the dreams, sweetheart?”

Laura smiles and kisses him again, and this time he doesn’t have to pretend to be affected. “I think I can use a weapon other than a gun or a knife or a bow, you know. Now, go to sleep and don’t scare me like that again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Clint says, starting to grin at her, and she shoves him in the chest and they fall together back into the tangled mess of sheets and pillows and memories.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](spacestationtrustfund.tumblr.com).


End file.
